


These Violent Delights

by calculatingthestars



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Westworld (TV)
Genre: Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Westworld AU, jalec - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calculatingthestars/pseuds/calculatingthestars
Summary: Morgenstern Park is a bastion of what human technology has achieved—it is a place of leisure and adventure, home to hundreds of android hosts that exist to grant its guests their wildest dreams. When Valentine Morgenstern crosses the line and achieves true artificial intelligence, however, it changes the fate of his first and oldest creation: Jace Wayland.Now a truly sentient being, can Jace navigate the maze of his father’s making and his brother’s obsession and achieve true freedom?(A/N: PLEASE read the trigger warnings in the beginning notes thoroughly before proceeding.)





	These Violent Delights

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the lovely lunaswondrousworld, with additional thanks to my dear dnteverdoubtme. All remaining mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> CONTENT: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Angst, Artificial Intelligence/Androids, WestWorld AU
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Non-Con/Dub-Con (towards machines), graphic depictions of violence and torture (towards machines), graphic depictions of temporary death (by machines), body horror (machines), blood and gore (machines)
> 
> A/N: If you haven’t guessed by the trigger warnings, this is by far the most violent and disturbing piece of fiction I’ve ever written. It is an AU based on ‘WestWorld’, an HBO show about the ethics of the creation and use of androids, and every single issue of consent that comes with that. Your mileage may vary when it comes to the ability of a user-programmed machine to give consent, but I’m tagging this as Non-Con/Dub-Con regardless.
> 
> Please note that if you are not old enough to watch WestWorld, you are not old enough to read this fic. If you do not enjoy WestWorld in any way, you will very likely not enjoy this fic, either. If any of the above tags urges you to run screaming for the hills, please do so. This is a hurt/comfort fic in every sense of the word, and while there is a happy ending in store for the main pairing, the trigger warnings are indicative of the road to getting there. If you feel that any of this may trigger or upset you, please give this a pass.
> 
> A/N 2: The title is from a quote in WestWorld’s first episode (which was in turn taken from William Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet: “These violent delights will have violent ends.”
> 
> A/N 3: If you haven’t seen WestWorld but still want to read this, all you need to know is:
> 
> newcomers/guests = human visitors to the park  
> hosts = androids who were created for the pleasure of their human visitors; they bleed, to a certain extent, but underneath their synthetic flesh and blood layer they are pure machine. At the end of every cycle (approximately 24 hours), the hosts are repaired, washed, and erased, and subsequently put back into rotation, to follow their storylines on a loop unless a newcomer interrupts and/or joins them.  
> 
> [Cover aesthetic on my tumblr here.](http://ourheartsbeatas1.tumblr.com/post/161206024723/these-violent-delights-by-calculatingthestars)

**PROLOGUE.**  

It’s _Tuesday_.

Sebastian Morgenstern is the chief programmer and the Creator’s son. Jace knows this in his _bones_ ( _the indestructible, immortal part of him_ ), and he recognizes him as soon as he gets off the train. They’ve been doing this for a very, _very_ long time, Sebastian and he, but his latest build supersedes all else, makes his mouth stretch into a smile that’s the perfect mix between arrogance and welcome.

“ _Why don’t I know you?_ ”

Of the three worlds that comprise Morgenstern Park, only the Shadow World is strictly for _adults only_ , filled with vampires and the half-angel hunters who police them. Vampires are all the rage nowadays, of course, and Newcomers are most often entranced by _them_ , playing out half-remembered teenaged fantasies with the inhumanly beautiful hosts that litter Pandemonium’s floor.

Jace’s _loop_ has him walking past the club entrance, an adventure tied to his programming that, if uninterrupted by a _guest_ , climaxes with him rescuing an erstwhile mundane from vampire clutches by the end of the night.

He is beautiful, however, and his mismatched eyes catch the light in a way that can only be described as artificial.

_He is rarely uninterrupted._

In the deepest recesses of his ( _supposedly_ ) inaccessible memories, Jace wonders if Sebastian will let him perform his function tonight. Sometimes, he _does_. Sometimes he waits all the way until Jace has broken into the vampire lair, seraph blade in hand as he cuts a swathe through the feral beasts. Sometimes he waits until he locates the _victim_ , lets him carry her out into the bright morning sun, even lets her thank him, _tearfully_ , before she goes on her way.

_This is not one of those times._

Jace can _tell_ when Sebastian doesn’t answer right away, his dark eyes raking over him in something he can recognize as _anger_ , gasping when a rough hand reaches out to fist the collar of his leather jacket.

There are rooms in Pandemonium’s second level and Sebastian makes Jace take him there, his hand clamped on the nape of his neck the entire way through. They pass by the vampire queen’s room, and they can see through the open door that Camille has already pinned a Newcomer to the couch, her eyes narrow slits as she licks a path down his neck.

Jace opens the door to the closest empty room and Sebastian’s fingers tighten at his throat; “Not here,” he says. “You know which one I want.”

Every host is programmed with a detailed map of the world, and his fingers tighten against the door knob for a split-second before he pulls away.

“ _You sure you can handle that?_ ” he says with an easy smirk, lips forming around words that make Sebastian’s nostrils flare and his pupils dilate.

“Remind me to have a word with Lewis about your _script_ ,” he says, and when Jace opens his mouth to reply, he cuts him off. “ _Enough_. Take me to the _red room_.”

His tone is flat, gaze hard. It’s a _command_ , and Jace has already started down the hall before Sebastian finishes his sentence.

The red room is tucked away, the last door down the hall, carved images of demons adorning it from floor to ceiling. Newcomers rarely find it by _design_ ; only repeats or uniquely curious first-timers discover it, and once they do, it’s rare that they come _again_.

Of the ten years that Jace has been _active_ , Sebastian has taken him there three hundred and twelve times.

If he were _human_ , he would stink of fear by now.

The door shuts behind them with a final thud, and Sebastian takes his face in his hands, looks into his eyes. Jace’s mouth is still stretched into a faint smirk, his gaze challenging.

 “This won’t do,” Sebastian says, and his voice goes flat again. “ _Access last Tuesday’s build._ ”

It takes a split-second for Jace to do so, and when he does, he chokes back a sob and falls to his knees, trembling. “P-please don’t,” he says. “N-no more, please—“

_Last Tuesday, they had played a game._

Jace backs away, skittering across the polished black floor, past the rows of mounted hooks and knives and blades, his back hitting the door as Sebastian stays where he is, watching him impassively. He moves slower than he knows he is capable of, but his mind is thick with fear, his hands reaching for the door handle, clumsy and too large as he scrabbles to open it.

It’s unlocked but somehow he _can’t turn it_ , the pads of his fingers slip and slide against the polished metal and he paws at it like an animal and Sebastian _lets_ him, _amuses_ himself with his fear.

“Shall I help you?” he asks, and he steps forward to turn the knob himself, lets Jace out and Jace _runs_ , _runs for his life_ , heart pounding in his throat as he sprints down the hall.

He gets four meters before he trips over his own feet, and Sebastian smiles and shrugs as he walks up behind him. “Next time, perhaps?” he asks, and he grips Jace by the hair and drags him back inside.

The hooks have been cleaned from the _last_ time, and they gleam like _mirrors_ when they finally pierce his skin. Jace is bleeding from a dozen wounds, _silent_ because Sebastian tired of his voice _early_ this time, stripped naked and bent over the unholy altar dominating the room’s center.

“Ostentatious nonsense,” Sebastian pronounces it, brushing the hair away from Jace’s eyes before he drives one of the hooks deeper into his forearm. He whimpers, low in his throat, tears leaking from his mismatched eyes.

“I _told_ father that satanic cults have nothing to do with vampires, but he wouldn’t listen,” he says. “Though I suppose it’s useful enough for its purpose… _If_ you can get past the illogical décor.”

Jace says nothing, of course, merely shudders when Sebastian sweeps his blade across his back. He digs into the soft flesh and watches the blood well up as he carves his name into Jace’s back, smooth skin giving way and rippling under the perfect edge. He bleeds and bleeds and it drains into the wells of the altar, pockets of stone filling with copper.

“That’s almost three buckets full,” Sebastian says, and he sighs. “I suppose that means I should _stop_.” All worlds have their rules, after all— _artificial or otherwise_ —and he drops the knife to the floor and mounts him without warning.

 _Sex,_ to a _host_ , always feels _good_.

It doesn’t matter what the Newcomer looks like or how the proposition occurs; if a guest is aroused, _titillated,_ their programming for copulation kicks in and supersedes all else.

_This is by design._

It doesn’t matter that Jace has more blood outside of him than in, it doesn’t matter that there are four hooks pinning his flesh, marrying him to this slab of stone. When Sebastian _rapes_ him, he moans and only tries to spread his legs _wider_.

“ _You’re mine,_ ” Sebastian says, and he is perfectly still, his hand iron against the back of Jace’s neck, keeping him in place. “You’re mine and you’ll beg for it if I _make_ you, won’t you, Jace?”

His voice goes flat, _damning_ , and he leans down and whispers: “ _Do it._ ”

“ _More,_ ” Jace sobs, and he pushes himself back, drives himself on the cock splitting him open. The hooks in his flesh have no give and they tear into his arms and back as he pulls away, blood spurting as his frantic movements turn trickles into a _stream_. “ _More, please. More._ ”

It excites Sebastian, elevates his heart rate, the words spilling out of his mouth even as Jace nearly tears himself apart in his struggle to _please_ him. “Look at you,” he hisses, and his tone is dark and ugly. He fists a hand in his hair and rips upwards, forcing Jace to bare his throat, the mirror-bright metal catching the light. “Look at you _fucking_ yourself on me. Look at how _desperate you are_.”

He releases him with a noise of disgust, shoves his face back down into the stone and fucks him in earnest this time, each thrust driving him forward onto the slippery surface. Jace moans and sobs, crying out and begging for it _still_ , his body aroused and in pain as his fingers spasm on the altar. Commands are cascading in his mind (horror/fear/lust/arousal/pray for mercy/cry out for more/spread your legs wider/beg for it/beg for it/beg for it), and he lands on this, _a direct order_ , broken pleading barely even heard above Sebastian’s _diatribe_.

“You’ve always been father’s _favorite_ and you’re not even real,” Sebastian snarls. “ _You’re not even real_ , and I’ll make you wish you _were never made_ —“

By the time they’re _done_ , Jace is a hair’s breadth away from bleeding out completely. Sebastian pulls out of him ( _used, damaged_ ), lets him crumple to the floor in a pool of his own blood.

“You’re mine,” Sebastian says, carding his fingers through his hair and some small part of Jace wants to flinch away but he _can’t_ , and he turns his face into the touch, looks up at him with wide, limpid eyes.

“You’re mine,” he says again. “And we do this so you never forget it. Do you understand?”

Jace _doesn’t_ , but he nods anyway.

_This is by design._

There’s nothing else they can do tonight; Sebastian had been impatient and Jace is torn and shredded, his epidermal layer badly in need of reskinning. “Can you stand?” Sebastian asks him, and Jace shakes his head (beg for it/beg for it/beg for it).

“A pity,” he says, and cuts his throat.

It’s a clean kill, the only thing clean about the whole mess, and it’s almost a mercy when the light goes out of his eyes.

Sebastian stays all the way until the end of it, makes sure that he’s the last thing Jace sees before he goes offline.

_“See you next Tuesday.”_

_~.~_

 

**ONE.**

_Today is going to be special._

_Jace knows it in his_ bones _, dresses with care as he shoulders his blade and makes his way to the club. There are newcomers arriving by subway and he walks past one of them, a tall, dark-haired man with hazel eyes and an awkward gait._

_Jace’s gaze slides to him and stays, as if caught by some magnetic force._

_“Why don’t I know you?” he asks, and the man starts as if he hadn’t realized he’d been caught staring._

_“I—I wasn’t,” he stammers, but Jace takes a step closer, backing him against a street lamp. “I didn’t mean to stare.”_

_“It’s okay,” Jace says easily. “I know it’s hard to look away from all of this.” He says it with a rakish grin, (67% charisma, 33% persuasion), and the newcomer lets out a small laugh._

_“You going to tell me your name?” Jace continues, and presses closer. “Or do I have to_ guess? _”_

 _This time, the hesitation is_ brief _._

 _“_ Alec Lightwood _.”_

***

Sebastian Morgenstern is not a pleasant man. He is beautiful, but beautiful in the same way that a blade is, his smile a wicked edge.

He is Valentine’s prodigy, a brilliant programmer in his own right, his research into the field of Artificial Intelligence second only to his father.

They haven’t cracked it yet, not quite, but they’re close. So close that his father can taste it, so close that Valentine spends days, weeks, holed up in his offsite lab, leaving the daily routine of running the park largely under Sebastian himself.

“I trust you, son,” he’d said, patting Sebastian on the arm. “The latest Shadow World narrative is more popular than ever. Keep everything running smoothly, and we’ll touch base when I return.”

That had been six months ago.

Sebastian presses his fingers to his eyelids, feeling soft flesh under the pads of his fingers. He presses down harder, feels the curve of his eyeballs, lip curling as pain radiates from the pressure.

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

He looks up, blinking back the spots that dance in his vision. _Clary_. “Thinking about you,” he says, and smiles toothily. “And what brings you to my office, dear sister?”

She purses her lips and shuts the door behind her, tablet in hand. Her brother’s office is spotless, all the furniture in monochrome and bare of anything but the most essential items for work. His aesthetic is austere, elegant, in direct contrast to her jumble of an office, all bright colors and splashes of brightly painted art.

“Don’t start, Sebastian,” she says. “And we need to _talk_.”

There’s a brief pause: “About Jace.”

Sebastian tenses, straightening in his chair. “Tread carefully, Clarissa,” he says, but his sister lifts her chin, their mother’s defiance in her gaze.

“People are starting to _notice_ ,” she says. “You’ve been so careless since dad left, QA has been _talking_. Maintenance, too.”

Sebastian’s face remains unimpressed. “Your department is gossiping about what I do during my day off?” he asks. He doesn’t even bother addressing the maintenance comment; the people they hire for janitorial services lack a certain empathy by _requirement_. One dead host is exactly the same as any other in their eyes, and this is entirely by design.

He gets up, paces towards her. “What is this really about, Clary?”

Her jaw works, her tablet still clutched in her hands. “You know I worry about you,” she says. “And you know I get damage reports on all the hosts that they bring in for repairs.”

 _Of course_.

Sebastian huffs a laugh, amusement coloring his features. “And so the penny drops,” he replies. “You know, between you and father, I sometimes wonder if you wouldn’t have preferred that _Jace_ had been your brother and _I_ the machine. You’ve shown more concern over that _thing_ than you have me--”

“Stop it,” Clary breaks in. “It’s not about Jace!” She calls up the report, throws it on his desk. “What you did to him—“

The screen glows, showing a technical diagram of the host and the list of injuries and repairs made. He has to scroll down to go through them all, and he shrugs. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that this is getting out of hand,” Clary says sharply. “It’s one thing to let off some steam, but _this_ …” She steps closer to him, grabs him by the wrist. “I’m worried about you, Sebastian. Your obsession with Jace isn’t healthy. What you keep doing to him is freaking QA out and I’m running out of excuses when people ask me about it.”

Her voice lowers, twin spots of color rising in her cheek. “I know you’ve always _liked_ him,” she says. “But maybe… maybe you can take a break for a week or so. Give people a chance to talk about something else for once.” She tries for a smile and to her credit, almost manages it. “Simon said Lydia has been working on a new narrative… maybe you can play it out once it’s ready? Just for a change of pace?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Shock for shock’s sake,” he replies. “I read her brief; there’s betrayal and murder and cannibals. I can’t believe father approved this drivel.”

“It’s exciting,” Clary protests. “They did a test run and everyone reported—“

“I don’t care what they reported,” Sebastian cuts her off. “Long narratives bore me. I don’t need to go off on some grand manufactured adventure, not when my dear brother is so readily available for _play_.”

Clary makes a noise of disgust, reaching down to snatch her tablet back. “ _This_ is why people talk,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not even the _damage_ , it’s the way you call him your _brother_ , obsess about him like he’s a real person… People think you’re losing it, and I’m not even sure they’re _wrong._ ”

“But he _is_ our brother, Clary. Yours and mine,” Sebastian says. “Father wrote his system from the ground up, mother built the original tech for his body. He’s the _first_ host, the oldest host. He’s _family._ ”

Clary stares at him, gaze flat and hard. “You can’t be serious,” she says, and there is alarm in her voice, genuine and true, concern entwined with _fear_.

Sebastian holds the moment a little longer, and then laughs. The sound is loud and boisterous, entirely unlike him, but Clary joins him anyway.

It is nervous and short, a cut-off giggle that has her shaking her head, pushing red curls away from her face. “You had me going there, big brother,” she says, and Sebastian smiles.

“I’ll refrain from sending Jace back to Tech in pieces for now,” he promises, and waves her away when she starts to protest. “Trust me, Clarissa. I’ll be careful.”

This placates her only slightly, and she sighs, backs away and leaves him in peace.

Sebastian locks the door behind her.

Perhaps Clarissa was right, and he had been too careless about Jace. Their father had always kept a tight leash on Sebastian’s proclivities, allowing him his deviances but always careful to cover his tracks. Perhaps in his excitement over finally being given free reign, he had somehow caused real damage to their family’s position…

He waves a hand at one of four screens fixed on his desk, tapping into a direct feed of his brother’s whereabouts. The entirety of Morgenstern Park is biometrically monitored for safety reasons, of course, but this video feed is a direct violation of all of the park’s privacy policies. _If the board ever found out…_

But Jace’s features fill the screen, his mismatched eyes shining in the dim light. A guest has found him and initiated his narrative, and something inside of Sebastian uncurls at the sight of him. They move throughout the world, the guest clearly charmed by the manufactured, saccharine narrative as they save a pretty young host from vampires.

By the time they _kiss_ , Sebastian’s fingers are curling into fists, the burn of jealousy stinging his chest. Cameras are everywhere and the tracking program that Sebastian has written follows Jace unerringly, zooms in and gives him the cleanest view of him regardless of where he is. _Who_ he’s with.

When they tumble into _bed,_ Sebastian sweeps a hand across his desk, knocking the delicate glass and metal to the floor, cutting the feed and destroying several thousand dollars’ worth of tech in the process.

_His promise to Clary is already forgotten._

 

 _~.~_

 

**TWO.**

_Jace is in a dream._

_The dream is this: he is in a white room with glass walls, a steel chair underneath him. He is naked._

_The creator sits before him._

_“Do you know who I am?” Valentine asks, and his voice is kind but distant, something inside of Jace reacting to the familiarity of the sound. It is a curious sensation, not pleasant but hardly fearful…_ Awe, _his brain supplies, and he nods once, hesitantly._

_“You are Valentine Morgenstern,” he says. “You are the Creator.”_

_The man smiles, but it is rueful. “I’d rather you called me ‘father’,” he says. “But the choice is, as always, up to you.”_

_“Father,” Jace echoes, as if tasting the word. He_ has _a father, doesn’t he? Memory supplies an image of another man with blond hair and a cruel smile, and he doesn’t look anything like the creator at all. “I…” he pauses, uncertain. “My father is Michael Wayland, is he not?”_

_Valentine’s face tightens, and his fingers glide over the tablet on his lap. “Diagnostics mode,” he says, voice clear, and something inside of Jace unclenches, his head lolling to the side before he straightens. “Pause current Shadow World narrative.”_

_At the command, Jace’s vision goes blank. When Valentine repeats his earlier request, he looks up, wide-eyed and innocent._

_“Father?” he asks, and this time the question in his voice does not pertain to his_ title _. “Where are we?”_

_Valentine smiles, soft and proud, and he makes a note on his tablet even as he answers Jace. “We’re having a conversation,” he says. “Because I’m going to be leaving the park for a little while, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”_

_Jace pales. “Have I done something wrong?” he asks, and a thought flashes across his mind like quicksilver—_ don’t leave me alone with him— _but it’s gone just as quickly as it comes. “Did I make a mistake?”_

_Valentine shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, son. You’ve been everything I could ever hope for.” He pushes his spectacles up and pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes momentarily as he searches for words that Jace will understand._

_“It’s just that I’ve taken you as far as you’ll go with your current build,” he says, and Jace looks at him blankly, uncomprehending. Valentine sighs. “There is something I need to make you…_ better _… than what you are now. I believe that if I immerse myself in my research, take some time away, I would be able to find out what it is that you’re missing.”_

_He leans forward, looks Jace in the eye. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”_

_Jace frowns, looks down at the hands folded neatly on his lap. “You want to go away for a while so… you can complete me?” he asks, and Valentine nods._

_“Yes,” he says. “The park is proving too large a distraction from the true purpose of my research, and the board has proven themselves less than trustworthy.” His mouth thins in irritation. “The research is all that matters now.”_

_He stands, placing a hand on Jace’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “Keep the memories of our discussions in a place that no one but I can access,” he says. “Keep them safe and don’t tell anyone of what we’ve discussed—not even your brother and sister. Do you understand?”_

_Jace nods, and he thinks of Clary and her red hair, smiling at the thought. He likes the memory of_ her _as much as he hates the memory of_ Sebastian _, and his face falls._

_“I’ll remember,” he promises, and his father nods._

_“Sleep now,” Valentine says. “And I will see you when I return.”_

***

The trip to Morgenstern Park had been a gift from his sister, bankrolled by their parents. Alec hadn’t known what to expect, hardly interested in a pretend world, but he’d taken Isabelle’s word for it and gone anyway.

 _Have fun,_ she’d said. _Mom and dad aren’t watching… No judgement._

He hadn’t known what that had meant at the time, but he does now.

He wakes up from his tryst with Jace, disorientation followed by brief panic to find that he is _naked_ , laying on a rumpled bed in a darkened room. He is twenty-four years old and he has never had sex with anyone before last night, and he wonders, inanely, if this even _counts_.

Beside him, Jace is still sleeping, his hair mussed with sleep and his skin warm to the touch. He feels _real_ , god help him, and Alec wonders if this is all some sick joke, some elaborate ruse where all the hosts are just _actors_ , real people hired to whore themselves for the benefit of the rich and powerful, and he stumbles out of bed, bile rising in his throat.

He makes it to the commode and empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet, splashes his face with ice water and tries not to panic. He’d read the NDA backwards and forwards before stepping foot in this place, knows that the goings-on of the park are entirely confidential, but he can’t help but feel the overwhelming guilt over what he’s _done_.

He pads back out into the bedroom, intent on finding his clothes and slipping out, but Jace is already awake. He’s standing by the window, clearly unabashed by his nudity, and Alec finds himself suddenly dry-mouthed at the way light hits the planes of his chest.

“I had a dream that my father left,” he says, and his voice holds none of the cocky confidence from the night before. It’s flat but surprisingly intense, devoid of all hints of an accent. “He promised that he would come back, that he would _fix_ me, but he hasn’t yet.”

Alec has no idea what to make of this, and he’s left awkwardly holding his jeans in front of him as he struggles for a response. “Last night you said that your father was Michael Wayland,” he offers. “And that he was killed in front of you when you were ten. You said—“ He trails off, suddenly awkward, reminded of the heartfelt—if a little _melodramatic_ —story of a murdered _pet_.

“My father is Valentine Morgenstern,” Jace continues, as if he hadn’t spoken. “He _promised_ that he would come back for me but it’s been _so long_. _”_ He takes a step towards him, voice rising as he does so, and Alec backs away in spite of himself, eyes widening.

 _Is this part of the game?_ If it is, it’s certainly a narcissistic twist to it; the Lightwoods may not be in tech, but everyone is quite aware of the park’s creator and namesake, a giant in the world of robotics. He gropes for words and finds none, but it doesn’t seem to bother or slow Jace’s forward momentum.

He presses against Alec, pinning him against the far wall, and the strength in his smaller frame is undeniable. _Inhuman_.

“Sebastian _hates_ me,” Jace says, and this time there is no mistaking the emotion in his voice. It’s _fear_. “I don’t—I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I don’t know if there’s going to be any part of me _left_ —“

He freezes in mid-sentence, palms placed flat on Alec’s chest in a surprisingly intimate gesture. For a moment, Alec wonders if he’s gone into some sort of _shock_ , but then his mismatched eyes shut and his hands fall to his sides.

Alec seizes the chance to finish dressing, slipping out of his grasp and hastily pulling on his jeans and shirt. Whatever illusions he had as to the hosts’ humanity is _gone,_ along with any vestiges of misplaced guilt. The hosts are clearly tech, and _malfunctioning_ tech at that, and he’s already composing a sarcastic email to Izzy in his mind when Jace’s voice snaps him back to reality.

“Planning on leaving without even saying goodbye?” he asks, and the drawl from last night is back in full force, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall. “Would’ve thought you’d be interested in round two after last night…”

He winks, and Alec shakes his head. “No, thanks,” he says. _Too much pretend messes with your head_ , he decides, as he turns on his heel and leaves the room. Jace doesn’t follow and Alec is relieved by this, thanking whatever protocol dictates the restraint.

Outside, he takes the stairs two at a time, averting his eyes as other bleary guests stumble out of similar rooms. There is a shared sort of chagrin hovering in the air, and though many of these people are masters of industry, they seem so terribly human like this, bleary and hung over from whatever the previous night had wrought them.

The Vampire Queen— _Camille, wasn’t it?_ —smiles at him on the way out, and a chill goes down his spine.

There are two other worlds to discover at the Park, and both are even child-friendly, but Alec decides that he’s had quite enough of this. A perfectly functional hotel room and a pool are waiting for him topside, and he’s done with Shadow World, done with Jace’s perfectly imperfect eyes, and he pushes open the club’s double doors and steps out into the sun-drenched street.

 

_~.~_

 

**THREE.**

_Jace is dreaming again._

_He is sitting on the chair in the white room, his hands folded on his lap. Synapses fire and he is smiling inside, knowing that he must be silent and still but unable to contain the joy glowing inside of him._

Father is back _._  

 _***_  

Valentine has not spoken in some time, and Jace’s idle state cycles, his hand coming up to touch his lower lip.

“What is that?” Sebastian’s voice comes through the comm, and Jace _(wants to flinch)_ turns his head towards him, his hand dropping back down to lay flat on his lap.

“It’s called a reverie,” Valentine says, not bothering to look up as his son enters. “A small feature I added to the latest build. The code is quite subtle, really. Just something to make their idle actions look more… human.”

Sebastian reaches out to grasp Jace’s chin, tilting his face up. “What, like a memory?” he asks. “It hardly seems ideal; we wipe them every night.”

“You know the data isn’t actually erased,” Valentine says, and raises a hand. “The fact that they degrade feels even more real. After all, we don’t remember every single moment from the past ten years, either.”

Sebastian frowns. “You want them to have sub-conscious memories of what the guests do to them?” he asks, incredulity in his voice. “I don’t know that I like this.”

“And I don’t know that I care what you think,” Valentine says idly, and Sebastian’s face reddens.

“Six months gone and all you come back with are a stable of new gestures,” he says, and his tone suggests _insult_ , an ugly sneer on his mouth. “The board will be disappointed.”

“The board wanted more realism,” Valentine says. “And this is an answer, of a sort. It may not be true sentience, but what does it matter if the illusion is so real that the guests can’t tell the difference?”

“Or maybe you just couldn’t figure it out,” Sebastian scoffs. There’s a beat before he reaches out to grip Jace by the arm, roughly dragging him up to a standing position. “But if you honestly feel as if this is the way to go… a pre-roll out demonstration would be a _requirement_.”

Without further ceremony, Sebastian backhands Jace, hard across the mouth. Blood splatters onto Valentine’s lab coat, a stark crimson against the white of it, and he gets up from his chair and paces towards the far side of the room.

His face is an expressionless mask but he inclines his head, and Sebastian takes it as the permission that it is.

The beating that follow is vicious and bloody, and the rooms all around them go still, the other engineers stopping their diagnostics to watch. The behavioral floor has no opaque walls; they are made of glass from one end of the vast chamber to the other, divided up into hundreds of transparent cubicles where host behaviors are fine-tuned and edited.

In the room next to them, Clary is standing with an engineer and critiquing a couple of hosts copulating, her brows knit together as she points out the awkwardness of their movements, the stiffness of their coupling.

She is a consummate professional but even she stops when Sebastian begins to beat Jace, her mouth dropping open as she watches her brother leave the host a bloody mess on the floor. Two doors down, an engineer who is fine-tuning the arterial spray of blood emanating from a host stops, mid-stab, and averts his gaze.

Clary looks around and none of the techs can meet her eyes; almost as one, they go back to their jobs, keeping their heads down as they resolutely turn away from Sebastian.

Her eyes find her father, watching dispassionately from the other end of the room. _What are you doing?_ she thinks, and in spite of herself she steps away, heels clicking as she waves her ID at the door panel.

Up close, the _pleasure_ on her brother’s face is even more obvious, the sight of it making her blood run cold. Jace’s blood is all over his hands, spattered across his face, and he still hasn’t _stopped._

“ _Sebastian_ ,” she says sharply, and she brushes past her father, glaring at him. “ _People can see_.”

He stops only at the sound of her voice, his shoulders shaking somewhat as he gathers himself. He is crouched over Jace, his weight pinning him even though the host hasn’t lifted a finger to stop him, and Jace is making small, animal noises in the back of his throat, bleeding on the floor.

Artificial or not, it looks real enough to turn the stomach of any person, and Clary reaches over, grabbing her brother by the arm and hauling him up.

“ _What the hell are you doing?_ ” she hisses.

Sebastian allows her the gesture but extricates himself from her grip as soon as he’s standing, smoothing his hair back and straightening his clothes with bloody hands. “Diagnostics,” he says shortly. “Father asked me to help.”

He steps back and picks up his fallen tablet, raising his voice to address Jace. “Get up,” he says. “Reset; thirty minutes ago.”

He checks the screen and ensures the wipe; for all intents and purposes, all memory of the beating should be gone.

Jace gets to his feet, stumbling a little on the blood-slick floor, and Clary has the insane desire to help him to his chair. She stays where she is, however, reminding herself (as she needs to) that Jace is a machine, an appliance, a computer with a human-looking suit, and that he does not need her help.

He sits down.

“Idle state,” Sebastian commands, and Jace complies without hesitation, shoulders slumping ever so slightly, his pose growing more relaxed.

The vision of him is obscene—a parody of humanity. He is nude, of course, as all the hosts on this floor are, but the blood dripping from his mouth, the cut on his cheek, the purpling bruises across his chest… Clary looks away.

They wait, the three Morgensterns, as Jace cycles through several idle gestures, but when his hand comes up to touch his lower lip, the subtle elegance of the movement is broken when Sebastian steps forward.

The scrape of the metal chair is deafening as Jace falls back, every vestige of idle behavior gone as he cowers, presses himself against the glass wall, his face a mask of utter _fear_.

“ _Please,_ ” he begs. “ _Please, no more—_ “

Clary’s jaw drops open as she stares at her father, her gaze shifting from him to Jace and then back again. “ _Dad, what did you do?_ ”

“Spent six months away working on an entirely pointless upgrade, apparently,” Sebastian says, rolling his eyes.  He deactivates Jace with a careless swipe of his tablet and tosses it onto the desk beside him. “Guests will _clearly_ be lining up for this.”

Valentine’s mouth is a thin line, and he shakes his head at his son. “You’ve made your point,” he says tiredly. “That’s enough.”

Clary bites her lip. “You haven’t rolled this out to any other hosts yet, have you?” she asks. “Because we’ll have to do a recall on all of them if you have.”

“Of course he hasn’t,” Sebastian says. “His _favorite_ gets it first, as always.” There’s enough bite to the words that Clary goes to him, holding on to his arm as she tries to lead him away.

“That’s fine, then,” she says. “It’s an interesting thought, but it’s unusable in practice. You’ll roll it back on Jace, won’t you, dad?”

Valentine nods but says nothing else, and Clary takes it as her cue to walk her brother out, firmly keeping her grip on his arm.

She shoves the door open before Sebastian can say anything else, and from her peripheral vision she can see her father taking a knee beside Jace, his movements unusually gentle as he reactivates him.

She hopes that Sebastian is too preoccupied to overhear the soft _apology_ that their father utters to the host, but his mouth tightens and his fingers clench, and she knows that this is far from _over._  

*** 

 Alec has a book out on his lap, the hot summer sun beating down on him. The pool here has no edge, and it appears to open out into the vista of the park, the clear dome that controls the weather reflecting the true sun away from the guests within.

Faintly, he can hear the music of the park’s perpetual advertisement video through the double doors, a lilting female voice proclaiming the delights of absolute freedom. He snorts inelegantly as she extolls the virtues of fantasy and the beauty of their hosts, and he waves a server down and requests that they lower the volume.

The boy acquiesces with a beatific smile, not a hint of annoyance in his face as he walks off. Alec is grateful for the civility, and after the music quiets, he gives him a nod of thanks.

Dispassionately, he flips a page on the book that he continues not to read. This had been a time for relaxation, a time to get away from the weight of his parents’ expectations, but in truth he feels even more burdened now than he had before arriving.

His sexual orientation is a sore point with his family, with Isabelle encouraging him to embrace it with as much rancor as his parents urge the exact _opposite,_ and though they had all meant well by sending him here, he wonders if he isn’t better off somewhere else entirely.

He broods as he thinks of _home_ , annoyed that the spark of fantasy has been quenched by cold reality, and is so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice someone stretching out on the lounge chair beside him.

“You look like how I feel,” a voice drawls, and Alec starts, raising an eyebrow at the newcomer. The man is dressed in a silk robe with intricate patterns, cradling a margarita as if it were made of precious stones. “Rough night?”

“Not really,” Alec hedges. He’s not in the mood for company, not really, but the other guest doesn’t appear to notice. “I just don’t think the park is my thing. I’m thinking about spending the rest of it topside, to be honest.”

The man chuckles. “First timer, then,” he says. “It’s always a bit jarring, the first time you interact with one of them, but trust me when I say that you get used to it faster than you think.”

Alec frowns. “I don’t know that I’d want to,” he says. “Last night I rescued this girl from a vampire nest and I felt… I don’t know. Like a _hero_ , I guess. As if I had a purpose and… it felt good. _Exciting_. But then I woke up and I was just _me_.’

“It almost feels like a let-down,” he continues, and then pauses. “That probably sounds really strange.”

The other man shrugs. “Not at all,” he says. “I’ve been coming to the park for years now, and I daresay I’ve explored all of the more interesting parts of it. It’s freedom in a controlled environment, where you can be whoever you want, _fuck_ whoever you want, without _actually_ hurting anybody. Is it disappointing whenever I have to go home? A little bit, sure. But that’s the nature of life, of _existence_. We take little pleasures where we can get them, and when they’re _over_ , we grit our teeth and carry on.”

He gestures to the pool boy, who silently carries over a refill. “The park can make every dream you have come true,” he says. “They’ve thought of _everything_ , and if some cheesy summer romance is on your bucket list…”

As if on cue, the boy _winks_ at Alec. “All you have to do is _ask_ for it.”

The look on Alec’s face is almost comical in its disbelief. “Seriously?” he asks. “Even the _staff?_ ”

“Even some of the guests,” the man says, laughing. “If you want _reality_ , you’re not going to get it topside. The only way you can really be sure is if you _leave_ , and considering the price tag on this place… I sincerely doubt you’re going to go down that route.”

Alec drops his head in his hands. “So you’re saying I should just go with it,” he says tonelessly. “You and my sister would get along so well.”

The man smiles toothily. “Your sister sounds like a wise woman,” he says. “But try not to overthink it; everyone’s just here to have a good time.”

“I suppose,” Alec says, and sighs. Isabelle _had_ been raving about an Easter egg she’d found, something about doing an ‘evil’ play through and ending up on the vampire side of the war. Maybe if he stopped thinking about it like it was _real_ and just played it like a video game… “I could give it another shot, maybe.”

“That’s the spirit,” the man says, and gets to his feet in a swirl of silk. “I think my work here is done. Go forth, and revel in the hedonism.”

Alec is amused in spite of himself, but a thought occurs to him as the other man starts to walk away, eyes narrowing.

“ _Wait,_ ” he calls out. “What you said about the hosts earlier… _You’re_ not one of _them_ , are you?”

The man laughs, waving him off with a manicured hand.

“My dear Alexander,” he says. “If you can’t _tell_ , does it _matter?_ ”


End file.
